


Sometimes I Wanna Keep You Warm

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, First Time, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We really ought to make the most of being snowed in together, you know," Eames said, leaning in, voice husky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes I Wanna Keep You Warm

**Author's Note:**

> For the dream_holiday exchange on LJ. Hazelwine requested a snowy winter setting with a smattering of preferences and kinks. Thanks to Molly for the initial beta, and to Liz, Maura, and Julia for the helpful readthroughs. <3 Title credit goes to the Rolling Stones.

The best part about letting people think he had exclusively expensive taste (besides the occasional couture presents from pleased clients) was the way it allowed lazy thinkers to assume Arthur wouldn't be caught dead in L.L. Bean, a rented Ford Focus, or this shit-hole of a motel on the outskirts of Portland, Maine.

(On the other hand, sure, this peacoat was L.L. Bean, but it was still Italian wool. And the scarf and gloves were Hermes. Why waste perfectly good accessories?)

Setting down his duffel bag, Arthur took off his gloves and scarf with some reluctance; the room was chilly as though it had been empty for a while, although the heater was on. It was snowing heavily outside, had been for several hours, and he would be settling in here for the night. While he had some spare time, he might as well indulge in a quick hot shower. Hours of driving in the cold and snow had left him tense, aching, and generally scummy-feeling.

Fifteen minutes later, scrubbed clean, he was sitting on the bed in silk long johns, a merino sweater, wool pants, and cashmere socks, and his coat, eating cold lo mein he’d picked up in the next town over as he watched the local evening news with a lack of interest. It was then that he heard heavy boots outside his door, stomping off snow.

He set the lo mein aside and picked up his Glock, silently approaching the door, listening. Of course, he couldn't look through the peephole unless he wanted to risk getting shot in the eye, and it would be too obvious if he tried to look out the window.

He was saved from the need for further investigation by the sound of a familiar voice close to the door, weary and low, just audible over the wind.

"Arthur."

He looked through the peephole then, and it was like a kick in the gut. Eames, one unmistakable gray-green-blue eye staring right back at him. Damn. He wasn’t exactly surprised that Eames had managed to find him, but this wasn’t a development he’d been expecting.

Arthur blinked and unhooked the latch, the deadbolt, and the door lock. "Quick," he said, Eames bringing in with him a gust of freezing wind. Arthur closed and locked the door behind him as quickly as he could, but a substantial amount of snow came in with Eames, and all the heat the room had managed to build up seemed to have been sucked right out.

Eames looked exhausted and thoroughly chilled, skin flushed and chapped, bags under his eyes, and most importantly a trail of dried blood down his temple. "Somebody hit you?" Arthur asked, making what he figured was a reasonable assumption. Putting his gun away, he pushed Eames down to sit on the bed and wasted no time going to the sink to wet a cloth.

Eames just shrugged in answer, taking his snow-caked hat and gloves off and closing his eyes as Arthur found the wound, just at his hairline, and started to carefully wipe the blood away. Eames winced, with a soft sound, but was otherwise silent.

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you," Arthur said expressionlessly, holding Eames' chin to tilt it a bit, looking him over for any more visible damage and for no other reason. "I am in hiding, you know."

"Knew you wouldn't," Eames replied, in a rasp. "I’m on the run, in case that wasn’t somewhat obvious to you."

"Oh, and it's so safe for us to hole up together." Arthur went to his bag for his first aid kit, getting ointment and a bandage.

"More fun, at least," Eames replied, smiling up at him, eyes bright now despite how weary he still seemed.

Arthur scoffed under his breath and refused to hold Eames' gaze, ignoring the jump his heart gave at that smile as he dabbed on the ointment and placed the bandage. “You think you have a concussion?”

“No.” Eames shook his head briefly. “Not hard enough of a hit.”

Eames was streaked with mud and freezing. Arthur put the blanket from the bed over Eames' shoulders and offered him the rest of the lo mein, which he took and quietly began to eat. "You can take a hot shower," he began, but then the local news cut in with a weather alert. At the end of that, a hard drive of snow pounded against the door, dashing against the window.

"Fuck," Arthur complained. “Really didn’t want to be stuck here.”

"Elegant suite not to your liking?" Eames teased lightly, and then, coinciding with a massive gust of wind, the power went out.

" _Fuck_ ," Arthur said again, with feeling. "At least I brought fucking candles. Shit.” With a heavy sigh, he got up to rummage through his bag for his waterproof matches and emergency candles, starting to set them up and light them in the low light from the one window.

Eames watched him make his way around the room, and Arthur felt his gaze like a finger tracing along his skin, gentle but insistent. "How romantic," Eames remarked, still sounding tired, but grinning now when Arthur looked over at him.

"Shut up," Arthur replied without heat. "Hot water should last for a while, you could still take a shower."

"Too worn out right now. Perhaps you ought to give me a sponge bath," Eames said, leaning back on his elbows. Arthur didn’t reply to that, but felt himself flush.

Eames chucked the empty lo mein container into the trash, picked up the cloth Arthur had used to clean his wound, and went to the sink to wash his hands and rinse the rest of the grime off his face. Arthur found himself glancing at Eames’ shape in the dim light as he lit the last candle.

Eames sat on the bed again and took a flask from his coat pocket. "Cheers," he said, offering the flask to Arthur, who took it as he sat down next to him. Arthur caught the smell of rum upon opening it and took a good pull. "Just enough to warm you," Eames said as he took it back, taking a pull himself, capping it again and slipping the flask back into his coat. There was a moment of silence in the candlelit darkness.

"Haven't seen you in ages, Arthur. Not since the Fischer job," Eames remarked, contemplative, watching him, with a fondness in his eyes that Arthur wasn’t sure was for him specifically or for memories of that particularly accomplished job. "How've you been?"

Arthur shrugged, noncommittal and still a little on edge from Eames' arrival. "The usual."

Eames nodded and bit his lip. "I suppose you got more work after that job. I certainly did." He laughed ruefully. "It's a mixed bag."

Arthur nodded. "This is just the latest in a series of disasters. I've considered retiring," he said wryly.

"Oh, Arthur. I know you don't mean that. You love this work."

"Of course I don’t mean it. What could I possibly do after this?"

"Well, don't work yourself too hard. You know, I never hear about you having a personal life."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just because you don't hear about it--"

"--Doesn't mean you don't have one. Right. I know."

"And for the record, I do have one."

"Of course."

"But okay, given the nature of the work it's not as... lively as it was when I was in the Marines."

Eames laughed, a wry smile on his lips. "What can be as lively as it is in the Marines, darling? Whether U.S. or Royal. Speaking of the Marines, I remember being trained," he arched a brow, "that when in freezing conditions, one should strip off one's clothes and huddle very closely for warmth with a companion in a sleeping bag.”

"Well, I hate to disappoint you," Arthur said, unable to stop himself from grinning, "but I don't have a sleeping bag."

Eames clucked. "And you're usually so well-prepared for any eventuality."

"What can I say, it was an oversight."

"I suppose I can bear huddling naked with you under regular bedsheets," Eames said. "You're blushing," he pointed out, and Arthur frowned a bit.

"I'm warm," he defended, and Eames looked at him skeptically.

"Then take off your coat."

Arthur did, tilting his chin up with a slightly defiant air. The flush on his skin didn't subside, and he shivered before he could stop himself. Eames caught it, of course.

"Oh, Arthur," Eames sighed. He reached a hand out to lightly touch Arthur's hair, which was curling, and still damp, with no gel in it, since he didn’t usually bother with it when not on jobs, much less when he was trying to avoid being identified. Arthur flinched just a bit, mostly out of surprise, and Eames continued, "Do you know what my nickname was for you in the program, when you were fresh out of the Marines and still had that haircut?"

"No," Arthur said, raising a brow.

"'High and Tight,'" Eames said with a grin.

Arthur laughed, and felt himself blushing again. "That wasn't a public nickname, I hope."

"Oh, no. That was just for me, before I knew your name," Eames replied. "There were a few times I nearly said it aloud, though. I'd almost forgotten about it, that was so long ago."

Maybe, Arthur thought, Eames had also forgotten about the time he’d hauled Arthur to a dark corner at what passed for a party back in the program days, and kissed him, tasting like gin and tonic, Arthur’s blood pounding and head swimming from cheap beer. Arthur shivered again at the sudden intensity of the memory.

"Come here," Eames said sternly, patting the bed directly next to himself. "It's going to get a lot colder in here before it gets warmer, so I'd suggest getting used to my close presence, as upsetting as you may find it.” The snow battered at the windows again, the draft seeping through the cheap motel walls, as if to punctuate Eames' statement.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't--" he began.

"You do," Eames replied with that irritating knowing tone he got sometimes. "You always have."

Arthur swallowed and started to retort, but found he had no argument. Eames raised a blanket-draped arm to put around him as he moved closer. Even for all he had just been out in the snow, Eames was a human furnace, and Arthur was drawn to him, but the coat was cold and damp. Arthur shrugged out from Eames' hold, just catching the surprised and slightly hurt look on Eames' face before Arthur told him, "Take the coat off."

Eames did, revealing a gray thermal shirt with peeks of various other layers beneath it. Arthur helped him pull up the blanket again, around them both, and this time he put an arm around Eames as well, trying to seem casual about it, not wanting to do it tentatively. He was soon distracted by how much better this was. Under the coat, Eames was warm. Warm and dirty and sweaty, and Arthur thought he smelled wonderful.

"Much better," Eames said approvingly. Arthur shivered slightly as he warmed, and Eames automatically tightened his arm around him. Arthur stilled. "Arthur, honestly," Eames said, turning to put both arms around him, and this was now technically an embrace. "I'd get it over with and pull you into my lap," Eames said, "but I'm sure these denims are as cold and dirty as that coat."

"If you're trying to get me to tell you to take your jeans off," Arthur began, but Eames just laughed and tightened his arms around Arthur, who was beginning to find that he could probably get used to being wrapped up like this, and--

He couldn’t help but squirm.

"Arthur. Relax," Eames said, cajoling, but Arthur stiffened.

There was a tentative pause. "Arthur," Eames began, sounding careful, "if you honestly tell me you want nothing to do with me, then I'll be as impersonal as you like until we're able to get out of here."

"I don't want you to be impersonal," Arthur replied, after a beat. “At all.” He remembered the way Eames had kissed him once before, the fleetness of it, the cling of those plush lips and the way he’d tasted Arthur so quickly, stealing a kiss, before Arthur had frozen and then pushed at him, hazily thinking they’d get in trouble if they were seen. He’d thought about that often enough since, and had wondered why Eames had never tried it again.

He leaned in to kiss Eames.

Eames moved a hand to cup the back of his head as their lips touched, and tilted his mouth against Arthur's, the tip of his tongue gliding along the seam of Arthur's lips until Arthur parted them, the world echoing with the pleased sound Eames made at that as his fingers curled in Arthur's hair and he wound his tongue against Arthur's. Arthur inhaled, fingers grasping tightly at Eames' shirt, pulling them closer together. Eames kissed him with a focus that told Arthur he’d been wanting to for years.

Eames shifted back and Arthur made a little sound before he could stop himself, mouth following Eames' for a moment. Eames’ pupils were blown, his cheeks pink. A hint of triumph flashed in his eyes.

"We really ought to make the most of being snowed in together, you know," Eames said, leaning in, voice husky. Arthur nodded.

Eames' hand was still in his hair. He leaned in again, and nipped at Arthur's lips, stubble scraping his skin. Arthur made another little sound, not meaning to, and Eames murmured low in reply, tugging at the longer hair at the crown of Arthur's head; Arthur gasped quietly. Eames drew back, and his expression was knowing. Arthur tried to take a deep breath.

"I've been wanting this for too long to screw it up," Eames said in that same low voice, watching Arthur's face carefully. "I want to do this properly. You're being very quiet and I suspect that's not a bad thing, but I need you to tell me you want this."

"I do. I want you," Arthur replied firmly. He felt a sagging relief at admitting it, and then felt almost lightheaded. He did want Eames; he had for years.

Arthur pulled the blanket from their shoulders and laid it across the bed. He raised his eyebrows when Eames kept looking at him, and shed his sweater, socks, and wool pants with military efficiency.

Eames blinked. "Right." He started to take off his boots, fingers fumbling in his haste. Pulling down the comforter and the sheets, Arthur got under the covers, hissing at the chill of the rough cotton.

Stripping off his thermal, Eames followed him in short order. "I can't even see you in this light," he complained.

"You can touch me," Arthur pointed out. “Pretend you’re blind. Use your hands,” he added with a touch of mockery.

Eames did, warm, calloused hands moving up under Arthur's silk undershirt, stroking over his back, gliding over his stomach. He gasped when Eames' thumbs flicked his nipples. Eames sought his mouth in the dark and kissed him again. Arthur pressed close, hooking a leg over Eames', and then Eames was shifting his weight a bit more over Arthur, who squirmed to pull Eames down onto himself in response. Eames broke the kiss to gasp out, "Christ, we need to get out of these clothes."

Together they got Eames out of his various shirts, shivering off and on, pausing for all-too-quick kisses. In the low light, Arthur couldn’t see Eames’ body nearly as well as he wanted to; he hadn’t seen Eames shirtless since the program days, but had been able to tell even through his purposefully loose-cut clothes that the man had put on quite a bit of muscle since then. Arthur traced his fingers over the hair on Eames’ chest, and his tattoos, which he'd never been able to closely examine before.

"Identifying marks, much?" he scoffed without really meaning it.

"Most of those were before I was even in the service," Eames explained, cupping a hand over Arthur's. "Don't get distracted, now. Must get these clothes off and all."

Arthur sat up and took off his shirt, quickly, burrowing under the covers again, Eames' arms going around him without hesitation. Arthur found himself, as he’d predicted, fascinated by Eames' sheer solid bulk at such close proximity. Arthur was slightly taller, but Eames was certainly thicker and heavier. Eames apparently was also noticing the way Arthur gripped his arms and shifted under his weight, eyes on his sizeable shoulders. Arthur felt his cheeks flushing again.

Eames met his slightly challenging gaze and kissed his forehead. "Relax. I won't make you call me ‘daddy’ or anything," Arthur's breath caught, "unless of course you'd like that," Eames finished, sounding surprised.

"One thing at a time, Eames," Arthur replied, a little breathless.

"I could drip hot candle wax on you," Eames suggested, teasing.

"This isn't the right kind, it'll burn," Arthur replied automatically, and Eames raised a brow.

"All right then. How about I just fuck you as though our lives depended on it?"

Arthur's jaw dropped as he realized something. "I don't have any condoms."

Eames hummed, dismayed. "I don't either. Damn."

"Do we... do we need them, though? I mean, we get a lot of blood work, and I know we're both clean," he said, faltering at Eames' look of astonishment.

"You're sure?" Eames asked. "You know what you're suggesting."

"Obviously."

"Have you done that before?"

"Jesus, Eames, you ask a lot of questions."

"Have you?" Eames' hand was under Arthur's waistband.

"No," he admitted, and Eames smiled.

Arthur found himself continuing. “It’s just, okay,” and Eames curled his fingers around Arthur’s waistband and started to pull down his long johns, “if we don’t fuck bare, we won’t be fucking at all tonight, and,” he swallowed, “I really want you to fuck me.”

Eames’ eyes looked slightly glazed. "Well, let's get on with it then, shall we?" He shifted back to work at his own fly, but Arthur pushed his hands away and took over, unfastening and tugging Eames' jeans down his hips. Eames got out of them and took off his socks, and just as Arthur was getting his fingers under the waistband of Eames' flannel boxers, both of Eames' hands were finally tugging down his long johns, which were his last layer. "Off," Eames said, and Arthur got out of them.

He wanted to touch Eames, but Eames pressed him back into the bed, fully over him now, kissing him, leaning on one hand while the other roved over him, palm gliding, fingers stroking, learning Arthur, how squeezing his hip made him shift impatiently, how Eames’ fingertips tight on his nipples made him gasp little breathless sounds into Eames' mouth.

Eames moved to kissing his neck, and he arched, shivering, Eames' teeth nipping at his skin, stubbled chin scraping him. Eames licked along his collarbone as his hand finally found Arthur's cock, and Arthur gasped, arching up into his grip.

Eames kissed down his chest. "Has it been a while, Arthur?" he murmured against his skin, giving his cock a firm squeeze.

"No," Arthur retorted, strained.

"Oh, then it just wasn't good enough? Wasn't what you wanted?"

"Maybe not," Arthur got out as Eames' teeth closed gently on his nipple.

"Well, that's not right, is it? Arthur should always get what he wants," Eames said, smiling against Arthur's skin, then biting at his taut stomach. Arthur tried to think of a reply to that, but Eames got his mouth on his cock then and every thought flew out of his head. "Oh," he gasped, reaching for Eames' hair.

Eames lifted his head, and Arthur could just barely make him out in the dim light, covered as he was by the bedclothes. His eyebrows were raised.

“Eames, come on," Arthur said, and Eames licked a long, slow, wet stripe up his cock. “Please.”

"I've your permission to have my way with you, then?" Eames crawled back up the bed, smiling down at Arthur, who couldn’t help a small laugh as he was kissed.

Arthur had his chance to touch Eames then, which made up somewhat for Eames being a cocktease, and he took as much advantage as he could, fingers stroking over every firm, smooth contour of Eames' muscled back and shoulders. Eames shifted away just slightly, still kissing him, and Arthur's hands made their way to Eames' front, palms gliding over his nipples and then down to his stomach before one hand wrapped around his cock, over his flannel boxers. Eames gasped and broke the kiss.

"Arthur," he said, shifting his hips, sounding a little desperate, "please tell me you have lubrication."

"I do. Gun Oil," Arthur replied, giving Eames a squeeze.

Eames raised his eyebrows again. "Gun oil. Actual gun oil, or the brand? It's you, so I'm afraid I have to ask."

"The brand," Arthur answered. "I liked the name," he defended when Eames started laughing.

"I’m sure you did," Eames said. "Hang on, so you have lube but no condoms?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be having sex. I did expect to be jerking off," Arthur replied.

"Ah." Eames looked to be contemplating that.

"Why are you still wearing these?" Arthur asked, tugging at Eames' boxers, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I really don't know," Eames remarked somewhat hoarsely, getting out of his last item of clothing. Arthur wrapped a hand around him bare, and Eames collapsed onto the bed.

"I want to blow you," Arthur decided, rubbing his thumb over what was still evident of Eames' foreskin, given that he was hard. Eames groaned.

Arthur continued, stroking his thumb over the tip of Eames' cock. "I could make you come like that, and then I could wait for you to get hard again and you could fuck me."

"Oh God, to have the refractory period of a teenager again. Besides, I'll have come twice; won't that upset your sense of fairness?"

"You'll just have to make up for it somehow." Arthur bridged himself over Eames, kissing down his stomach, licking over a barely visible scar on his abdomen. His fingers lightly cupped Eames’ balls before wrapping loosely around his cock, and his mouth watered as he licked at the head. Eames gasped as Arthur took it into his mouth, the point of his tongue twisting to stroke over and taste of every curve and dip.

Eames’ chest was rising and falling with every noisy breath as if he were trying to calm himself down, and Arthur took his hand from Eames’ cock to spread it out over his ribs. As if he’d been cued, Eames found his voice again, just before Arthur shifted to take more of him in. “Arthur-- Jesus--” His hand found Arthur’s hair, a fist anchoring in the length at the crown of his head, fingernails scraping his scalp.

Arthur was actually drooling now, sinking to take in as much as he could, tongue firm against Eames’ smooth skin as he drew off, massaging the frenulum before taking him in again. Eames groaned luxuriously, low in his throat, tugging at Arthur’s hair probably without fully realizing it as Arthur nearly drew off once more. He moved his hand from Eames’ chest to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock, not tight enough to delay him, just wanting to pull his skin taut toward the base so Eames could feel every lick that much more clearly.

He found a rhythm, steady, lips tight, Eames moving with him, humming and shuddering with enjoyment, every particle of him seeming to be focused on Arthur’s tongue, his mouth. Being the center of Eames’ attention, his world, kindled a warming thrill in the pit of Arthur’s stomach.

“Arthur,” Eames said suddenly, urgently, “I’ve got to fuck your mouth.” He held totally still for a moment, waiting for a response, and in reply Arthur planted a hand on either side of him, humming around Eames, who wrapped both hands in his hair and started to thrust shallowly upward, Arthur relaxing a bit and taking him while Eames panted, “Fuck-- Arthur-- so fucking-- Jesus-- so good-- God,” shakily, almost with a tone of disbelief.

He got faster, his breath higher in his throat as he moved. Arthur kept up with him, loving the feel of Eames filling his mouth, his taste, and the feel of Eames’ hands holding him. He breathed through his nose, throat relaxed, but once or twice had to stop himself from almost gagging. It didn’t matter.

Arthur moved one hand to Eames’ hip; just after he did so, Eames came with a heavy, tremulous groan, palms pressing tightly to Arthur’s head. Arthur swallowed what he could, the salty warmth sliding down his throat. As he slowly drew off, he licked gently at Eames, teasing, the man giving a final pull to his hair before releasing him.

“You weren’t as talkative as I thought you’d be,” Arthur remarked, a little out of breath, sitting up and wiping his mouth -- or attempting to, there was a lot of saliva and come on his lips and chin -- with the side of his thumb.

Grinning, Eames rolled his eyes, looking flushed and flustered, and extremely appealing. “Oh, shut up, Arthur.”

Arthur laughed and stretched out alongside Eames, who showed no hesitation in kissing him, tasting himself. Arthur’s cock bobbed between them, the picture of impatience, even as Arthur tried to breathe, to give Eames time to get hard again.

Eames pulled back to study him in the candlelight. Arthur was still smiling, pleased with himself, as Eames stroked his thumb over Arthur’s lower lip and into one of his dimples, pausing for a moment before proffering the thumb to Arthur to suck free of come. Eames sighed shakily, huffed out a laugh as his slick thumb slid free of Arthur’s lips. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought of doing indecent things to your dimples.”

“Dream come true, then?”

“For starters.”

“What other indecent things have you been wanting to do to me?” All the better for getting Eames hard again. He ran the backs of his knuckles down Eames’ chest.

“Oh, don’t get me started.” Arthur gave one of Eames’ nipples a firm pinch and the man gasped. “Everything. Every possible indecent thing I could think of.”

“Details.”

“You’ll get details, love. Visual aids. Preferably hands-on experience.”

“Speaking of hands-on experience.” Arthur wrapped a hand around Eames’ cock. He was slick, half-hard but firming into Arthur’s hand, so responsive to the pressure of Arthur’s palm that his own cock twitched in sympathy.

“I’ve thought about you, you know,” Arthur told him. “I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“Details.” Arthur could hear the click in Eames’ throat as he swallowed.

“It didn’t really get interesting until after you kissed me,” he said, and Eames looked surprised. “You remember that?”

“Of course.”

“I’d thought you were too drunk,” Eames muttered, breaking eye contact.

“I wasn’t.” Arthur kissed him again, stroking his palm up and down Eames’ cock. Eames kissed him back but was slightly hesitant at first, almost shy, and Arthur kept kissing him, stroking his tongue, squeezing his cock. Eames started shifting impatiently, his breaths rougher. Finally he pulled back, blinking.

"Arthur, I'm afraid you'll have to brave the chill to dig out your Gun Oil."

"I'm sure it'll be worth it," Arthur sighed, getting out from under the covers and very quickly, and efficiently going to dig through his bag, practically feeling Eames’ gaze on his ass as he did. He returned to the bed, set the bottle on the bedside table and dove under the covers again, lowering himself onto Eames, who was stretched out on his back. Eames responded by kissing him again, hands gliding down his back and taking hold of his ass, and then Arthur was warm again, hot actually, sweating a bit. He couldn't keep still.

"Like that, do you?" Eames murmured, smiling, nipping at Arthur's jaw.

"Of course I do, you're touching my ass."

"Darling, I want to do so much more than touch it." Eames punctuated this with a very firm squeeze.

"So quit talking about it and do it," Arthur replied, a little strangled.

"I will, but it's a question of how." Eames sighed, thoughtful. "I've daydreamed many a time of eating you out until you begged, but I'm not sure you'd actually want me to do that."

Arthur blinked. "I might."

"Noted. Of course I'll get my fingers in you, that's a given. But I haven't yet decided exactly how to fuck you. I've thought about it so many times in such variations that it's hard to pick what to start out with."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Eames, please."

"Mm, please what, Arthur?"

"Please stop speculating and fuck me."

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask." Eames sat up a bit and moved to pin Arthur to the bed, on his back. He kissed Arthur thoroughly and nipped the skin under his ear, shifting his hips against Arthur's.

"Eames," Arthur said breathlessly, "flip me to my stomach and fuck me into the bed."

"That'll leave a hell of a wet spot," Eames commented, but his hand slid under Arthur's back.

"I don't mind getting messy, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, and Eames turned him over. “Besides, I’ll make you sleep in it.”

With a huff, Eames kissed his way down Arthur's back, one hand spreading over the small of his back as he paused to give the curve of Arthur's ass a nip. With an impatient sound, Arthur spread his thighs further apart.

Not sure whether to expect Eames' fingers or tongue, he nonetheless let out a surprised gasp when it was the latter he felt as Eames spread him open, lapping at him. He tilted his hips back toward Eames, and felt as well as heard his amused hum. Arthur squirmed, toes curling.

A few more licks and Eames was raising his head, pressing a kiss to the small of Arthur's back. "I've been wanting to do that for years," he sighed.

"Why did you stop?" Arthur didn’t care how petulant he sounded.

"Well, you wanted me to fuck you into the bed. I was afraid you'd be frightfully angry at the diversion."

Arthur pressed his face into the pillow and closed his eyes. "Eames, you are infuriating. I'm beginning to have my doubts as to whether you can properly satisfy me."

"Your attempts to bait me are sadly obvious," Eames said, moving to get the bottle of Gun Oil from the nightstand. "You know perfectly well that I can and will properly satisfy you, at the very least."

"So get the fuck on with it alread-- Jesus," Arthur forgot what they were talking about the moment he felt two slick fingers working their way inside him. "Oh God."

Eames hummed, working his fingers steadily in as far as he could, apparently, until Arthur was squirming. "More."

Eames added a third and Arthur started fucking himself on Eames' hand, panting softly. "Are you sure it hasn't been a while, Arthur?" Eames teased, smug.

Arthur scoffed. "Will fucking me shut you up?"

"It might, at that," Eames said, removing his fingers in order to slick up his cock. "I suppose we'll have to see.”

Arthur waited, holding his breath, and when no penetration was forthcoming he turned to look at Eames, brow furrowed. The man was biting his lip, flushed, stroking himself almost idly, and when Arthur opened his mouth to ask why he wasn’t being fucked yet, Eames said, “Arthur, it’s not that I don’t enjoy the view,” he smoothed his free hand down Arthur’s back, “but it’s just that it seems I’d rather hoped I’d be seeing your face. Turn over for me, darling.”

Arthur was a little surprised, but he complied. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” he asked curiously, shifting his legs, stretching, Eames raking a sharp dark gaze down his body in the faint light as Arthur rested his thighs on Eames, who realized he’d been asked a question and shrugged. “We can do it your way later.”

“I thought you said I should get what I want.” Arthur raised himself up on his elbows, tilting his chin up as he grinned at Eames with narrowed, mocking eyes.

“This is what you want.” Eames’ tone had a soft teasing to it, but it was too rough and his breaths were too harsh to convince Arthur he was anything but serious.

“Oh? Prove it.”

Without a word, Eames took hold of Arthur’s thighs and pulled Arthur toward himself, causing Arthur to slip fully onto his back again, arms akimbo until he quickly recovered.

Eames shifted his weight, leaning over Arthur and starting to press into him, watching his face. Lips parting, Arthur wrapped his legs around Eames, tilting up against him, staring back, half in challenge and half out of a real desire to watch Eames’ face.

Eames bit his lip and Arthur’s gaze dropped to that; he watched the man draw his teeth tightly over it, listened to his breath hitch as Arthur more tightly crossed his ankles, bringing Eames deeper. “C’mon,” Arthur whispered. “Everything you’ve got.”

Eames scoffed, not without difficulty, and murmured with fondness, “Really, Arthur, that’s what you say to me at a time like this?” He leaned in to drop a quick kiss to Arthur’s lips, sinking into him fully as he did, capturing Arthur’s resulting gasp with another quick kiss. “Would you expect me to give you any less?”

Arthur shifted back to glare at him but the effect was ruined, he feared, by the way he was clutching at Eames.

The clutching turned into digging his nails into Eames' shoulders as the man slung his hips into Arthur's, steady, relentless, shaking the bed. Arthur closed his eyes, jaw falling slack with the thrusts, opening his eyes to find Eames watching his face with an unnameable expression.

Arthur squirmed, rolling his hips up against Eames'. "Don't forget," he panted, "you've got to make up for the fact that you'll get to come twice."

Eames snorted. "If you ask me," he said, "it's the least I deserve for you having been such a cocktease for roughly the past decade."

Arthur stifled a groan as Eames changed his angle. "How am I a cocktease? I just sucked you off and you're currently fucking me. You're the one with those lips," he added.

“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, it's unflattering. Your tailor must be a gay man, suffice to say."

"Jesus. You're going to give me bruises on my inner thighs," Arthur said, the thought of it making his cock twitch in interest.

"You're only encouraging me," Eames replied.

"Oh no," Arthur said sarcastically. "Don't give me any bruises, Eames. Don't bite me, either," he added as Eames bent to nip at his earlobe. Arthur shuddered, tilting his head, and was rewarded with a sucking kiss at the stretch of muscle just under the point of his jaw. "A hickey, really? Do you want everyone to know you finally fucked me? Does that turn you on?"

"Arrogant little shit," Eames said fondly, nosing at the underside of Arthur's jaw.

"That doesn't answer my question,” Arthur gasped. Eames had started moving slower and deeper, letting his weight rest more on Arthur, forcing his legs further apart. Arthur licked at the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

"Yes, I do. Yes, it does," Eames replied, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that Eames was answering him.

"I hate to break it to you, but if all goes according to plan, no one else will be close enough to see your marks on me anytime soon."

"Just knowing they're there would be enough. And there's always next time."

"What makes you think they'll be a next time?"

In answer, Eames just snapped his powerful hips, still buried deep. Arthur reached a hand behind him to grasp the top of the headboard, and closed his eyes. "Arthur," Eames said, and clucked, "you're only grumpy because you haven't come yet."

Arthur opened his eyes and stuttered out a laugh.

"I'll make you come so hard you'll never be grumpy again," Eames continued, wrapping a strong hand around Arthur's cock, turning Arthur's laugh into a sharp gasp.

“On second thought,” Eames mused, starting to stroke him, “I absolutely love it when you’re grumpy.”

“I always suspected as much.” Arthur rocked his hips into Eames’ grip. “This better not affect how hard you make me come.”

“It won’t,” Eames promised, giving him a squeeze. Eames moved then, startling Arthur, who went to grab his shoulders again. He slipped his free forearm under the small of Arthur’s back, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled Arthur to sit atop him, Arthur’s own weight causing him to sink onto Eames’ cock, fully, with a gasp at how incredibly good that felt.

Eames wrapped his arm around Arthur, tightly, low around his back, squeezing his hip, pressing down. He pressed his nose into the side of Arthur’s neck, and Arthur tilted his head back, Eames’ breath hot on his skin.

Eames thrust upward, finding his rhythm again, and Arthur stuttered out a gasp each time the man’s cock bumped his prostate, Eames’ hand stroking tight around Arthur’s cock, pressed between them, in counterpoint. Eames’ strength was inescapable; Arthur knew he was going to lock his hold around Arthur just like that, pressed into his skin, fingers gripping his hip, balls-deep in him, until they came.... Arthur closed his eyes, grinding down onto Eames and up into his fist with singleminded determination.

Eames groaned into his neck, a low rumble of need. “God,” he said, lips hot against Arthur’s skin, “have I mentioned how much I’ve wanted to do this?”

“You might have,” Arthur gasped in reply, opening his eyes to look at Eames’ face. He felt as though he might melt under the man’s gaze; Eames’ eyes were glittering, dark, his lips parted. It didn’t matter at all now how cold it was outside. It actually seemed hot in here now, the two of them slick with sweat against each other.

“Tell me again,” Arthur said, touching his lips to Eames’ temple, tasting his sweat.

“The ego on you,” Eames replied with a rough laugh, trying and failing to make his tone light.

“Not ego. I want to hear you say it.” Arthur tightened himself around Eames and the man gasped, pressing his face into Arthur’s neck again.

“Every time I look at you,” Eames murmured, quiet as a secret, fingernails digging into Arthur’s hip as he thrust into him, “this is what I want. I want to be inside you, around you, all over you. Nothing separating us.”

Arthur hadn’t been prepared for what seemed like a confession. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. At his silence, Eames too was quiet, except for his harsh exhalations against Arthur’s neck, and Arthur felt the sudden stillness and tension in Eames, his hips slowing.

He wrapped an arm around Eames’ back, pulling the man as close to him as he could, cupping his jaw with his other hand and kissing his brow, his temple, his cheek. Eames made a low sound, and Arthur swallowed.

“I told you,” he whispered, “everything you’ve got.”

Eames blinked, lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but instead Eames kissed him, and started moving faster again. Arthur’s hand moved from Eames’ jaw to curl around Eames’ hand on his cock, and Eames tightened his grip, catching Arthur’s gasp in his mouth.

The kiss became more of a brushing of lips as Arthur found himself starting to pant, “Eames, Eames, Eames,” under his breath as Eames stroked and fucked him harder. He watched Eames’ eyes close tightly until, at a sudden soft broken sound from Arthur’s throat, Eames opened his eyes and looked down to watch Arthur come in spurts over their fingers.

Eames huffed in what sounded like astonishment, straining as he pressed into Arthur in short, quick thrusts, and Arthur pictured the finger-shaped bruises he’d have on his ass and closed his eyes briefly, feeling Eames coming inside him, bare, something no one had ever done before.

Stilling, Eames breathed heavily through his nose, releasing Arthur who wrapped both arms around him and sagged against him, Eames sagging against him in turn, hot hands spreading out over Arthur’s back.

Arthur nearly dozed off before he felt Eames tugging at his hips, and he bit his lip as he raised himself up off of Eames. He stretched out on his side on the bed, and closed his eyes; Eames stretched out alongside him, close, an arm over him.

They were quiet like that until the sweat started to cool on Arthur’s skin and he began to get goosebumps. Eames apparently had them as well, judging from his sudden shiver. When he spoke, his voice was rough and still breathless, low.

“Right, I’m taking that shower before I completely pass out.”

Eames got up, stretching, shivering again. Arthur murmured in sleepy acknowledgment, and got under the covers with limbs that didn’t want to cooperate. He watched Eames blow out most of the candles and take two with him to the bathroom, and closed his eyes again, wrapping the sheets more tightly around himself, trying to trap in the warmth.

He dozed off once more, conscious of Eames’ singing (quietly) to himself in the shower. Arthur’s last thought before he really fell asleep was that he probably should have joined Eames in the shower, but he was sleepy and sated enough to not really care about the come just yet.

He woke up to Eames, soap-scented and warm, getting into bed. Under the covers, he pulled Arthur against him, and Arthur fit into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Eames gently carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair in what technically constituted petting, but it felt so good, and Arthur was so sleepy, that he permitted himself a single perfunctory grumble of annoyance before nestling closer to Eames, who chuckled softly.

“Grumpy,” he whispered.


End file.
